


Technicalities

by soproudofya



Series: Technicalities [1]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drugs, Incest, M/M, Step-Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 05:31:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3197171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soproudofya/pseuds/soproudofya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We're related by marriage."<br/>"Yeah, like that makes it any better?"<br/>"I mean, it kinda does." Chris shrugs. "Technicalities, man."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Technicalities

**Author's Note:**

> [Here's](http://pintokinkmeme.livejournal.com/1138.html?thread=323442#t323442) the original prompt. THANK YOU to everyone who's commented over on the LJ, and everyone who beta'd this shit (because there are like, several people, oops.) <33333 y'all are fantastic.

"Dude, are you gay?"

His nonchalance almost horrifies Zach more than the question itself, his steady voice and the way he doesn't even bother to peel his eyes off the TV.

It's unsettling, too casual. When Joe asked, he knew it was coming; he sat him down at the coffee table like it was some kind of conference and everything was serious and nerve wracking.

And here's Chris, asking him in his bedroom over a game of fucking Super Mario World.

"How the fuck do you know?" Zach stares daggers into him, wanting to slap the indifference off his face. "Did Joe tell you?"

"Oh my god, stop being paranoid. Why the hell would Joe tell me, of all people?" Chris glances at him. Zach leans over and whacks the controller out of his hand, sending it sliding across the carpet. "Dude!"

"How do you know, Chris?"

"Well, one, I just know. Two, I'm not straight, either." He gets up to retrieve the Wiimote and Zach's left with his jaw on the floor, stunned into silence. "Also, you play fucking Kim K, of all things."

Zach scrubs a hand over his face. "So, you're telling me you're gay?"

"Bi."

"Yeah," Zach scoffs, "you and everyone else in the free world."

That's what changes Chris' expression, fucking finally. He looks like a scared little kid, and Zach feels like an asshole as soon as he realizes it. "Like I can help it." Chris tosses his controller next to the console before he sits back down. As if Zach doesn't already feel shitty, he adds, "it's scary as hell."

Zach bites the corner of his lip. He knows. He remembers all too well being ten and having it drilled into his head that it's wrong to be gay, that he himself is wrong. All the years he spent praying and wishing he could just be normal, wake up straight, the years of denial.

He scoots over and slaps Chris' shoulder. "I know." The weight on his shoulders and the tone of the room is a stark contrast to the peppy 16-bit music still coming from the TV, so he tries to ease the tension. "How long?"

"Like... beginning of the school year? There's this teacher."

"And Christopher continues to be a walking cliche." He laughs, and Chris does too, thank god. "Which one?"

Chris loosens up more as he starts gushing about his Biology teacher, waxing poetic about his beard and his Master's degree.

"That's what gets you hot?" Zach asks. "Postgraduate degrees?"

"Dude, smart people are hot."

 

*

 

Zach works thirds at a gas station not too far from their house. It's almost always pretty slow—the few customers he gets are usually just potheads and drunkards coming in for smokes and munchies.

It's raining so it's even slower, which means Zach gets to clean the whole goddamn store while he plays Pixies over the speakers. Usually, that would be perfect, but he needs a distraction, something to slow his thought process. No matter where he ends up, he goes back to thinking about Chris and his apparent sexuality crisis and his dumb teacher crush.

He can't pinpoint why it's bugging him so much. He knows Chris trusts him and is equally trustworthy, and he's the last person Zach would expect to run through the streets yelling about how Zach likes to suck cock.

“Fuck it adjustment,” he mumbles, precariously slinging the broom in the direction of the counter. It clatters to the floor, but he ignores it in favor of a smoke break.

It's weird to him how, when their parents first got together, they hated each other on principle—Zach because Chris was eleven and annoying, Chris because Zach was unfamiliar and picked on him all the time—and now they're best friends.

Maybe it's just that fact, really sinking in because Chris put more than a vague semblance of trust in him, something more than “I keep getting boners in class and it's really embarrassing.”

It's cool, he figures, having someone look up to him, even though that someone is a jackass named Chris.

 

*

 

Zach jumps when his door opens and reflexively sits up to shove his makeshift pipe in the nightstand drawer. Logically, he knows the only other person there is Chris, who's now kicking his door shut.

He bends over to shove a pair of discarded jeans under the crevice. When Zach looks genuinely mystified as to why he'd do such a thing, he scoffs. "You're stinking up the house, dumbass," Chris explains, jumping onto the bed. The mattress squeaks under his weight. "Gimme."

"You're a greedy little bastard." Zach hands him the Coke can pipe and the lighter. He scoots over to the foot of the bed, sitting on the other end of the window, which he pushes open a little more. "Did you seriously just get up? It's almost two, lazy-ass."

"Shut up," he says as he exhales. He starts to hand the can back to Zach, who shakes his head.

"Catch up, I'm good right now.

Chris nods. "I was up until five finishing that book."

"Nerd."

It's quiet while Chris smokes, save for the obscure-ish shoegaze playing from Zach's phone. Once he's done, he sets the can on the windowsill and kicks the side of Zach's thigh. "So, like, weird confession."

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned?"

"Funny, asshole." To keep his hands busy, he grabs Zach's pack of cigarettes from the middle of the bed and twirls it in his hands. "I had a dream about you—like, a sex dream."

He jerks his head to look at Chris. " _What?_ "

"Yeah. Like, this morning.”

Zach is suddenly sure that his room must be bugged, that their parents will listen to this later on and know way, way too much. He grabs his cigarettes from Chris and hastily lights one to buy some thinking time. Somehow, he manages to convince himself that no, there are no microscopic spy gadgets hidden around his room.

"We're related, you fucking freak," he finally says. "God, you haven't even touched a girl and you had a fucking wet dream about me?"

Chris looks away and grabs the can-pipe again, even though it does nothing to hide the flush on his face. "Okay, I've _totally_ touched a girl." He sounds so offended that it makes Zach snicker, knowing he's bruised Chris' already fragile ego. "And we're related by marriage."

"Yeah, like that makes it any better?"

"I mean, it kinda does.” Chris shrugs. “Technicalities, man."

Zach stares at him in disbelief and scrubs a hand over his cheek. "So you'd fuck Joe?"

"Jesus Christ, no." Chris starts giggling right before he's about to take a hit. "I almost asked if you'd fuck Katie."

"Ooookay, buddy," Zach says in his best authoritative tone, "you're officially cut off." He takes the can and leans over the edge of the mattress to set it on the floor. "Katie's not bad though."

Chris scrunches up his nose, and Zach barely holds back a snarky comment—something about having a dream about fucking his step-brother but being grossed out by someone even implying his sister might be attractive.

He's not wrong, though. They're not actually related.

"So, what, you wanna fuck me or something?" His answer is in the way Chris starts blushing again. Chris opens his mouth like he's trying to speak but can't, and Zach barks a laugh. "Oh my god, you fucking freak! You do!"

Chris presses his hands against his cheeks, like his palms will siphon the excess heat. "It's not like I'm gonna act on it, jeez."

"I mean, we could." And only after does he realize what he's just said, but he makes no effort to take it back.

_Hey_ , Zach's beyond blitzed brain figures, _we're not technically related_. He's been in a dry spell for... months now, way too long, and here's a perpetually horny teenage boy who's apparently at least a little attracted to him, familial titles be damned.

He stares at Chris, raising his brows as he takes a drag.

"You're shitting me." Chris' gaze is penetrating. His eyes are pink and bloodshot, which seems to enhance the blue of his irises.

Zach shrugs. "Why not?"

Chris makes grabby hands towards the cigarette until Zach passes it over. "And you called me a freak. God," he pauses to exhale, "if only my parents knew how much you've corrupted me."

"Don't even joke about that, holy shit." He rubs his eyes, suddenly recalling the first time he ever got Chris stoned, how he got anxious and freaked out until Zach got him Taco Bell. "Your mom would have my head on a spike."

"Probably."

"Um, definitely."

"We should, though." Chris drops the butt in the ashtray, almost missing because he's staring at Zach so intently. "I mean, if you really want to."

Zach crawls over to him, inches away from his face. "Have you ever even been kissed?"

Chris laughs, a huff of air that hits Zach's lips. "I've played doctor before, Z."

That sends a shiver down his spine, makes his mouth gape before he has the mind to close it and kiss him. Chris cups his face before it even gets intense, and there's something endearing about it.

Zach pulls away to shift and sit on his knees, then pulls Chris in for another kiss, much harder than the first. He works his tongue into Chris' mouth, grins into it when Chris makes a noise in the back of his throat.

"Lie back," he instructs, and Chris obeys. Zach crawls over him slowly, peppers kisses on his neck until Chris tugs the hair on the back of his head to bring him back up.

Chris is already hard against his hip, making Zach involuntarily rut against him. He fucking whimpers into Zach's mouth.

It's becoming exceedingly apparent that neither one's going to last long. They're both breathing too fast, heads whirring with THC and arousal that's amplified by the taboo of it all.

"You like this?" Zach whispers into his ear. Chris responds with a noise of approval. “You like feeling another dick?”

“Oh my god, yes,” he hisses, digging his nails into Zach's shoulders. Grinning, Zach kisses a spot beneath his ear, reveling in the shudder it sends through Chris' body.

Zach can feel his dick twitch through the thin fabric of his basketball shorts when he comes, lets out a groan to match the one Chris doesn't even try to hold back.

Before Chris can even recover, Zach is shoving his hand down his sweats to free his dick, practically aching to come at this point. Chris' hand bumps into his before touching him, dragging the pads of his fingers along the hot, flushed skin of Zach's cock.

Chris blinks up at him. "I wanna see."

He silently complies and sits up on Chris' hips, watching his face to gauge his reaction.

There's pre-come dribbling onto the bottom of his shirt, which seems to fascinate Chris like it's some new discovery; he runs his thumb over Zach's slit, smearing it around, and licks his lip. Zach sucks in a breath that gets Chris' attention. "I know you know how to jack a dick."

Still tonguing the corner of his mouth, Chris tightens his grip and finally starts stroking him. It's fucking obscene, how strangely hot he is right now—his greasy bedhead, the intensity of his gaze on Zach's cock, the way his lips are still parted and wet.

He can't help but thrust into Chris' hand, which prompts Chris to direct his attention back to Zach's face. "Are you gonna come?" he asks.

The innocence in his tone and the question itself has Zach coming on Chris' shirt, biting down on his knuckles to try and mute the surprised moan that rips through his throat.

"Oh my god," Chris mumbles, and Zach laughs at him breathlessly.

He drops his hands above Chris' shoulders to brace himself and leans down to kiss him, but Chris pushes against his chest.

"Dude, I'm covered in spunk."

"Too bad." Zach pecks him on the mouth before letting him go. He yanks his pants back up and stays sitting long enough to light another cigarette and grab the ashtray, setting it on his sternum when he lies down.

It's a few minutes before Chris comes back in with a scowl on his face. "Jizz is fucking gross," he announces, and unsuccessfully tries to grab Zach's smoke. "Aw, come on."

"Nuh uh. You smoke too much."

"Wow, that's literally the dictionary definition of the pot calling the kettle black." He stretches out next to Zach and holds his hand out. "Give me the cigarette, you fucking chimney."

 

*

 

The following week is hellish, to say the least.

On one hand, Zach really, really wants to touch Chris. Like, all the time, in hopes that it'll lead to more sex, or whatever it was they did.

On the other, there's an unwritten rule where they have to mess with each other at all times. Whether it's by beating the hell out of each other, making the other feel stupid, or evidently, seeing who can turn who on more.

It starts when Zach casually glides into Chris' room. He shoves the book Chris is reading out of his hands and kisses his neck, going right back out before Chris can even really register what's happening and slap the shit out of him.

Chris doesn't hesitate to get back at him, but he's definitely more mischievous about it. His retaliation comes when Zach least expects it: under the dinner table, in the form of his foot on Zach's crotch. Of course.

Fuming, Zach briefly considers the physics behind throwing his steak knife across the table at Chris, who starts to toe along his dick as he contemplates this. His grip on the knife's handle tightens. Otherwise, he remains stoic.

He silently applauds himself. His dick twitches, interested by the slightest bit of attention, despite the fact it's from his brother-but-not-really. Under the table. While their parents are right there.

This is why he got accepted into drama school.

He clamps his thighs together, effectively trapping Chris' foot. They glance at each other, but Chris isn't remotely fazed. He's staring his dad dead in the eye, listening to some work story he's telling.

When their eyes meet and Zach finally releases his foot, Chris smirks at him.

 

*

 

Zach knows to wait a few days before he strikes again. Chris is smart and actually possesses common sense, so he'll definitely expect anything Zach can possibly think of. They're both on the lookout for the other to make a move, and the longer it's put off the more suspicious they become.

The scene is too perfect, really. Chris is viciously scrubbing at a pan, earbuds in, totally zoned out.

As quietly as possible, Zach comes up behind him and shoves his hand down the front of Chris' pants, effectively startling the hell out of him.

Chris jumps and flicks the water off of one hand, then pulls his earbuds out, not even bothering to look back at Zach. "Can I help you?"

"Nah." Zach bites him through his shirt, sinking his teeth between his shoulder blades.

It makes Chris inhale sharply and arch into him. "What the fuck are you doing?" His voice is quiet but almost frantic. Zach squashes him up against the counter and slides his hand along the length of his dick until Chris is half hard and pushing against his palm.

He starts to have a change of heart, thinks maybe he'll finish Chris off instead of just up and leaving him for the sake of competition.

And of course, they remember _oh yeah_ , it's the one day a week when Zach's mom gets home from work really fucking early—right as they hear the front door opening.

He laughs and slaps Chris' shoulder before darting away to the safety of his room, toning it down enough to manage a "hi mom, bye mom."

Not even five minutes later, he's lying on his bed, still snickering when his phone starts buzzing.

_you are such a dick I hate you  
_ _I STILL HAVE A BONER AND MARGO IS TRYING TO TALK TO ME FUCK YOU_

Zach almost drops his phone on his face, he's laughing so hard. He is _so_ in for it, and only laughs more when he hears Chris bounding up the stairs.

"Zachary," he begins before even shutting the door. "You are actually the worst."

"Have a nice talk with my mom?"

"Do you know how awkward it is to talk about, like, school shit with your step-mom when you have a boner?"

Zach scoffs. "You ever had to hide a boner with a book of hymns during mass while sitting next to your mom?"

"Yeah, okay. You win." Chris looks revolted but his expression returns to neutral when he straddles Zach, sitting just above his hips. "But you're still an asshole," he mutters, and leans forward to lick his neck.

"Is this how you show you're mad at me now? Because I can totally get with this." He flinches when Chris bites him. "Hey, not on my neck, dickass."

Chris pushes himself up and rolls his eyes. "Take your shirt off, then."

"Wow, you really know how to turn a guy on." Zach pulls his shirt from under Chris and struggles to get it over his head, then tosses it aside. "Here—like, right here." He touches the spot where his shoulder and collarbone meet. "Hard."

Chris doesn't question it, just goes for it, though not hard enough for Zach's liking.

"Harder. As hard as you can."

He delivers and Zach squirms, taking deep, long breaths so he doesn't make any noise.

"I want to suck your dick," Chris is suddenly whispering in his ear.

"Uh, no. You are _not_ sucking my dick while my mom's downstairs."

Chris raises his eyebrows, looking smug. "Wanna bet?"

Zach could easily just shove Chris off of him. Chris is a little shorter and scrawnier, but the size difference is just enough to give Zach an advantage.

He can't keep quiet when Chris bites him again, bordering on too hard, making him elicit an almost pained whine. When Chris licks over his teeth marks to soothe the sting, Zach grabs his hips, thumbs pressing into the bone.

It hits him how downright outlandish this whole thing is. His younger brother—but not really, his mind supplies—just gave him a hard on, and he's totally into it. He likes the heat of Chris' ass on his dick, the way his lips feel on his neck, even the underlying awkwardness of Chris' faux confidence.

Zach just goes with it when Chris slips between his legs, pushes the sudden stream of _fuck this is weird_ out of his head. He chooses to ignore it and instead focus on the way Chris is eyeballing his crotch while undoing his jeans.

Chris clearly has no idea what the hell he's doing, pursing his lips when he's faced with Zach's cock. He looks up at Zach inquisitively.

"You've seen porn," is all Zach says. "Figure it out."

He opens his mouth like he's going to object, but shuts it and lowers his head to lick the head of Zach's dick. Zach sucks in a sharp lungful of air when Chris actually gets his lips around him, lets him into the wet heat of his mouth.

He's good enough, Zach figures, silently thanking the internet for making porn so easily accessible, and restrains himself from fucking Chris' mouth.

Like all beginners, Chris makes the mistake of going too fast and gags a little. Zach props himself up on his elbows to look down at him, and god, Chris is a fucking sight to be beheld. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes glassy.

"Easy." He reaches down and touches Chris' cheek. "Go slow."

Chris nods, lets his eyes fall shut and he goes back to just licking, figures out to use his hands to get what his mouth can't reach.

The closer Zach gets, the worse he feels, and he can't shake it no matter how hard he tries. In the cyclone of thoughts raging in his head he almost considers faking it, but that's too douchey even for him.

So he pulls Chris up by his shoulders and kisses him hard, forces his tongue into his mouth until their teeth clash together. Zach pushes him onto his back and, once he's got his pants back up, nips at his neck, starts palming Chris' cock.

"Zach—”

Zach shushes him and presses his thumb against his lips. "Just let me, okay?"

Chris nods, and that's all he needs.

He crawls down, finding himself glad that Chris primarily wears basketball shorts around the house when he pulls them down without much effort. Chris' dick flops back against his belly, and Zach scrutinizes it quickly, seeing as he didn't get to last time. He's uncut and they're about the same length, Zach thinks, though Chris is thicker.

Zach gets this rush, almost like a power trip when he sucks Chris down and already has him squirming. It's only heightened when Chris slaps his hand over his mouth. Zach grabs his hips, pins him to the mattress as he licks from his balls to the tip.

Chris touches his hands and digs his nails into Zach's skin. It's almost tender. Not quite, but enough to freak him out.

He forces his mind to go blank, tries to remember all of his tricks. Shit, even if he couldn't, Chris would still think he's getting some grade A oral. It doesn't really matter, but Zach decides to go all out, show him just how much he loves sucking dick.

The rush turns into guilt when Chris comes, back arched, pulling a pillow over his face to muffle his groan, and only amplifies when he swallows.

"Oh my god," Chris says, post-orgasmic bliss making him beam. Zach pulls his pants up for him before he collapses next to him, dick still hard between his thigh and the mattress.

"Good?" His face feels like it's on fire, but he thinks the room is dim enough to hide it if he's blushing.

"Um, yeah."

He shoos Chris out after a few minutes, using the excuse of "you look like you're about to fall asleep and there's no way in hell you're sleeping in my bed right now." Luckily, Chris complies and fucks off, leaving him to brood and trying to will his erection away.

He doesn't want to, but he jerks off, and he has to bite his pillow so hard it hurts as he thinks about Chris' mouth on his dick, those questioning baby blues blinking up at him.

 

*

 

On Zach's end, everything is brutally awkward to the point of picking up day shifts to avoid Chris. It's hard to pull off if he's not working or asleep because Chris, shy and somewhat timid he may be, is confrontational. Normally, Zach admires this about him; he's told Chris countless times how awesome he thinks it is, how he wishes he could be the same way.

Now, the way Chris keeps trying to talk to him reminds Zach of when their parents first got together. Chris was nearing six then, always trying to befriend Zach and seeking his approval because he was older and had the better Pokemon cards.

It wasn't that he was a super annoying kid or anything, it was more that Zach was still feeling that confused sense of betrayal from his dad's death. He remembers feeling just as "betrayed" when his mom got back into the dating scene, and even more the first time he met Robert.

Cue a lot of crying in his room at night, repressed emotions, and wanting nothing to do with any of the Pines.

There were a lot of come to Jesus chats with his mom—mostly her reprimanding him for not being nicer to Chris and acting so aloof. When he thinks about that time, he always recalls one particular quarrel where he ended up sniveling, admitting he didn't want his dad replaced by some seemingly random guy.

She always said she understood and tried to reassure him that she was in no way trying to replace his father, told Zach he just needed to give Robert a chance.

He doesn't quite remember what the turning point was, and this isn't what he wants to think about so early in the day, but his head is still foggy from the Xanax he took just a little too much of the night before. It's making his thoughts roll through slowly, like near-standstill traffic on the freeway.

_I just wanted to sleep,_ Zach thinks, _not feel like ass._ His eyes are fixated on the coffee pot, watching it drip too damn slow for his liking. He's fully aware of Chris yammering on behind him, but he can't find the will to process whatever he's saying.

"I have no idea what you're saying to me," he says, cutting Chris off mid-sentence. He turns to face Chris and blinks hard.

"God, you look _and_ sound like death."

"Yeah, I feel like it." Somehow, he manages to sit up on the counter, starts warming his hands with the heat radiating from the coffee maker.

There's the hiss of a soda can opening and Zach cringes. He feels like Chris does it on purpose, must know it's almost deafening in his current state. "We need to talk, Z."

"I know," he groans, letting his head fall back and smack against a cabinet door. "I have to work." He says it as more of a reminder to himself than to Chris.

"When do you get off?"

Zach gives him a look like he's asked the most blasphemous question ever. "I don't know."

Chris scoffs. "Jesus Christ." The way he says it makes Zach feel like a little kid being scolded.

"I'll text you?" he offers.

"Yeah, that'll happen."

He doesn't even bother to try and stop Chris from stalking off, figuring the effort would be futile.

The day shift keeps him busy enough to not think about Chris and runs long enough that he can miss dinner, sparing him that extra acting lesson. The drive home, however, is a different story.

Zach decides to momentarily be nice to Chris again and texts him. _Hey, I just got off._

_of work, before you can take that out of context._

He regrets the message as soon as he walks into his room, because Chris is waiting on his bed, face crammed into a book as usual.

Zach heaves a sigh and kicks the door shut. "I wasn't going to try and avoid you this time."

“Yeah, right.” Chris looks up just as Zach starts unbuttoning his work shirt. "This is exactly like the beginning of a bad porno."

Zach shakes his head but snickers nervously. Their attempts at joking around lately have just resulted in more tension between them, and right now it feels like a fucking electric fence. "So... talk," Zach says.

"Not while you're half naked." Chris doesn't even try to hide the way he's staring at Zach, almost like he wants to eat him alive.

He hurries to change shirts, at this point just desperate to get it over with, and sits on the edge of the bed, facing away from Chris. "Okay, now can we talk?"

"Dunno, you're the one who needs to."

"About?"

"Don't act fucking stupid, Zach."

Zach can already feel his defenses coming up, prepared to snap and shut down at any moment. "Humor me."

He can feel Chris moving, and suddenly they're sitting next to each other with far less space than necessary between them. "This fucking—thing, whatever's been happening." Chris is flailing his hands around, like wild gesticulation will help Zach understand what he's trying to convey. "You've been acting like a douche since, uh, the last time."

Of course he only starts to feel embarrassed now.

"It's weird, Chris. You're my brother. Step-brother," he corrects himself before Chris can, "I know." Zach rubs his temples. "I mean, I've watched you go from an annoying little kid to an annoying teenager."

"Fuck you." He spits the words out like they're venomous, and Zach doesn't have to look at him to know that he's pissed. "Seriously, Zach. I just want shit to be normal again."

Zach shrugs, though he's fairly certain Chris isn't looking at him. "Then we shouldn't have. The second time, anyway."

"What, it's okay when you're stoned and have an excuse other than 'I wanted to?'"

That stuns him into momentary silence, makes his chest tighten like the wind's been knocked out of him. "Yeah, we're done for now. I'm fucking tired."

"Dude, it's not even 9:30!"

"I worked all day, Chris." It's not a complete crock of shit, considering he'll be beyond tired after popping a fucking Xanax. Zach pushes Chris up off the bed, almost disappointed when it's not forceful enough to knock him to his knees. "Get out."

Chris doesn't even bother grabbing his book before he leaves.

 

*

 

Zach can't remember the last time he was this excited to get off work. It's 7 AM, his limbs are heavy with exhaustion, he has two days in a row off, and Chris is going to be gone at a friend's for the majority of the weekend.

Working too much, sleeping too little, smoking too many bowls and trying to avoid bickering with Chris has left him in a fog, the past few days blurring together. He knows that as a result, he'll wind up sleeping for 12 hours and chain smoking on the porch instead of being productive or social.

Really, he's just ready for a break.

The whir of the A/C is the only sound in the house; it's unsettling yet somehow relieving. He almost breathes a sigh of contentment until he notices Chris lying on the couch with an arm thrown over his eyes. Zach thinks he's asleep until Chris peeks up at him and turns onto his side.

"You have a bed," Zach says, sounding meaner than he intends.

"My blood sugar dropped." Chris gestures at the open bottle of glucose tablets on the coffee table. He lets his arm drop like a deadweight, his hand dragging along the carpet.

Even in the midst of their never-ending argument, all the mutual glares and hateful tones, Zach's entire demeanor changes as he lapses into his role of Concerned Older Brother. Chris' hypoglycemia is nothing new, but it's still nerve wracking. "You didn't black out, did you?"

"A little? I just got hella dizzy and kinda shaky." Chris sits up and shrugs. "Will you stay down here?"

He doesn't answer. "Did you eat?"

"Jesus. Yeah, I fucking ate."

"Dude, I'm just trying to make sure you're okay."

Chris scoffs and rolls his eyes, and Zach swears he's never been more fifteen than in this moment. "I know what to do, Z, I'm not stupid."

"Sure your shit's not still low? You're acting like a douche." Nevertheless, he sits on the opposite end of the sofa.

"Because you've been so much better," Chris deadpans.

Zach groans and presses his palms into his eyes. "Can we forget about that for two fucking seconds? Like, why am I down here if all you're gonna do is bitch at me?"

"You're the only one who's up, dipshit."

He knows it's stupid and he should just shut up and sit until Chris says it's okay for him to fuck off. Zach misses talking to him, though, enough to seize the opportunity despite the lingering apprehension.

His cheeks burn when it really hits him. He _misses_ talking with Chris and giving him shit because they're way more than sorta-kinda-not-really-brothers, even disregarding their questionable status as fuck buddies. When it comes down to it, they're best friends, closer to each other than their respective blood siblings.

That's what makes it weird, Zach realizes. He's known Chris for so long and they've grown so close because there's not a massive age gap between them.

"Right," he says, working to keep his voice steady. "Like you couldn't go and wake Mom up."

"Will you just shut up and stay with me?"

Sighing, Zach stretches his arm out, beckoning Chris. "C'mere."

Chris looks cautious and moves slowly, but scoots over and leans against Zach, being pulled against his side.

"Better?"

His voice is softer, lacking its previous bite. "I wish you'd stop acting fucking stupid and just talk to me."

Zach turns his gaze from the edge of the table to the wall on his right, fixating on the crucifix hung right in the center of the ugly, outdated floral wallpaper. "I freaked out.” He focuses on the meticulous detailing of the fake gold as he thinks, tries to articulate what he needs to say. "You feel more like my brother than Joe does sometimes," he blurts.

"I get what you mean."

"Yeah?"

Chris slides his arm over Zach's stomach. "Yeah. I still don't get why you're so freaked out, though."

"This whole thing isn't weird to you?" Chris replies by shaking his head. "Why?"

"Okay, it _is_ a little strange."

Zach tears away from him as much as he can, backing himself up against the arm of the couch. "You couldn't have fucking told me that, like, a few weeks ago!?"

Chris blinks at him. "Chill." His voice is the epitome of calm, even after Zach's brief outburst. "I didn't fuck you over or anything, Z. It's not a big deal."

"But—" Zach pauses. Part of him knows Chris is right, that it's really not a thing that Chris didn't bother to tell him this extremely reassuring thought. Somehow, he quells the urge to overreact. "You're right."

"God, you're so dramatic."

Zach is acutely aware of the unmistakable sounds of their parents moving around. He sighs and stands up, looking down at Chris. "We'll finish later."

Chris nods and jumps to his feet to give Zach a chaste but forceful kiss. "I hate you sometimes," he mumbles against Zach's mouth.

"Me, too." He holds Chris in place and kisses him until Robert's voice can be heard clearly from the upstairs landing.

Chris is gone when he gets up, and Zach finds himself bummed out and lonely instead of excited like he anticipated.

It fucking sucks. Zach finally wants to talk but he can't, so he's left to stew in his thoughts. He can't go vent to anyone. It's not like he can show up at Joe's or at work to bug whoever happens to be on duty so he can word vomit all over them until he comes to a conclusion. There's no way to explain what's been going on in vague detail, leaving out that—oh yeah, all the 'relationship problems' he's been having are because he kinda fucked his step-brother.

God, it sounds so bad when it's phrased that way.

On top of that it makes him cringe because—vehement he may be about how Chris feels like his brother (Zach's watched the kid grow up, for fuck's sake)—he _knows_ that there should totally be nothing wrong with this.

Aside from Chris being underage, he can't think of anything that would get them into deep shit. Even then, there's that whole close-in-age exemption thing, and they're well within the limits.

When Zach manages to look past his stupid brotherly feelings and not constantly forget the age laws, it hits him.

Like, Chris was sort of right.

Okay, Chris was _really_ right.

Zach's certainly done his fair share of fucked up Google searches, but he's pretty sure _Pennsylvania step-sibling incest laws_ takes the cake. He's reluctant to actually search this because god forbid the NSA picks this exact moment to spy on his internet habits, never mind his mother somehow figuring out how to go through his phone's browsing history.

"Fuck it," he mumbles, and hits the search button.

Wikipedia's results are not reassuring at all. Fucking twenty years in prison? He's totally into sucking Chris' dick, but not enough to spend time in fucking jail.

He's hopeful, though. Surely the great state of Pennsylvania realizes how fucking stupid it would be to make having sex with someone you're not related to by blood illegal. Zach keeps on searching, though the mere mention of the slammer's left a bad taste in his mouth.

Okay, here's something slightly more promising—guilty of incest, second degree felony, only if that person marries or fucks a blood relative.

_The relationships referred to in this section include blood relationships without regard to legitimacy, and relationship of parent and child by adoption._

Zach's heart launches into his throat. If he's not mistaken, this shit's basically telling him yeah, fucking around with Chris is totally legal, because neither parent actually adopted the other kid.

By motherfucking god, Chris was right.

He can't wait until Monday afternoon or when the hell ever Chris gets back to share his findings, so he screencaps it and texts the image to Chris with the caption _GOD DAMMIT YOU WERE RIGHT._

_**I told you it was fine dumbass** _

_now is not the time for snark_  
_but you said you thought it was weird  
_ _why is it weird NOW_

Until Chris responds, Zach paces his room, staring at his phone's screen.

_**I'm to stoned for this** _

_*too  
_ _you piece of shit stoner this is important_

**Wait who was it who turned me on to weed?  
** _**Oh yeah  
** _ **You**

_just tell me_

_i want shit to be normal again_

_**Gay** _

Zach groans and throws himself back on the bed, burying his face in the mattress until the brief flash of anger subsides. He rolls onto his back and mumbles something about Chris being fucking stupid as he replies.

_COME ON DUDE_

**Dude  
** **I think i have a crush on you???  
** _**Lfsofshdvldkpgfdgggg  
** _ **Im sorry**

Zach's pretty sure his heart just fell right through his stomach and out of his asshole. He wants to believe it's in the horrified-disbelief way, but it's not—there are butterflies raging in his guts, threatening to ascend his esophagus, the same shit he felt when he used to look at Brad Pitt and during his first enjoyable kiss.

Every time he rereads it, he realizes how beyond fucked he is.

 

*

 

He isn't exactly surprised when Chris barges into his room, and it's certainly not the strangest thing Zach's ever woken up to. Besides, it's not like things ever go according to plan these fucking days.

"Dude, I fuckin' told you so," Chris says after he slams the door shut.

"Yeah, whatever. You were right, I was wrong." Zach waves his hand in Chris' general direction, then rolls over to face the wall. "Get the fuck out."

And, of course, because Chris is an asshole, he sits on the bed instead of leaving.

"Dude, it's so fucking early," Zach groans.

"It's past one."

"Case in point: early."

"Deadbeat." Chris jabs his fingers into Zach's side, making him bolt upright.

Zach looks at him, and he can't even pretend to be mad, not when Chris is fucking giggling at him like that—eyes squinted, tongue poking out from under his bunny teeth. He hugs his knees to his chest, stares at the foot of the bed instead of Chris. "I stayed up until six, fucknuts. So this conversation would really benefit from, y'know, letting me fucking sleep."

"Or we could just get it over with." Chris moves closer, scooting over until their arms brush; it makes Zach's breath catch in his throat. "I'm sorta freaking the fuck out."

"Yeah." Zach exhales slowly and cautiously touches Chris' shoulder, then lets his hand slide and settle at the small of his back. "It's—it's okay, dude."

"What do you mean it's okay? You were tripping fucking balls when we were just fucking around, but this is okay?" He looks confused but sounds understandably pissed.

"Jesus, Christopher," Zach sighs. He rubs his eyes with his free hand and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'm not trying to say, like, 'oh, this suddenly isn't weird anymore,' because it totally is. But knowing I can't be, y'know, tossed in jail for this? Kind of a relief."

Chris groans. "You're fucking stupid." Despite his tone, he leans into Zach and nuzzles his shoulder.

"This is what you have the hots for, man."

"Shut up."

He feels it now, the awkwardness that's probably, almost definitely burdening Chris. This would be so much easier if real life worked like rom-coms; he could just give Chris a kiss and they'd go about their lives.

It scares him that he wants that. It creeps Zach out that his stomach fucking flutters at the thought of kissing Chris, so much that he recoils. He doesn’t dare move over because, well, Chris would just get right back in his space.

Step-sibling status aside, Chris is _fifteen_ —he's fifteen, never dated, and mostly a virgin.

He doesn't want to be Chris' firsts. Someone else should take that title, some girl Chris' own age with perky tits and soft skin and a cute laugh. Not Zach.

He wants to say this, and he's pretty sure Chris is waiting for him to break the increasingly awkward silence. The words are stuck; his mouth is opening and closing, but he can't get them out.

"I just—I dunno, I wanna know how you feel," Chris finally says.

"About you?"

"No shit, Z."

"I like you, too," Zach blurts. He meant to throw ‘I think’ in there, ‘I might’. But when he thinks about it, it does seem pretty pointless; he doesn't often feel like a giggly, fumbling schoolgirl over anyone.

So yeah, he probably, almost _definitely_ likes Chris.

Shit.

Zach looks away and at their legs, focuses on the contrast between their skin tones so he can think about anything other than how his face is on fucking fire, like lava's flowing through his capillaries.

"Dude, I don't get it.” Chris nudges his shoulder, so Zach sucks it up and looks at him. “You have some really hot friends."

"Yeah, well. I don't want to date my hot friends."

"You want to date me?"

"I mean... yeah, of course I do."

"You're so lame. God, why do I like you?"

Zach snickers and finally kisses him.

 

*

 

In his entire short dating history, Zach has never worried about a relationship so much.

Chris, thank fuck, doesn't seem to pick up on his anxiety. He's not sure how he'd respond if Chris were to ask about it, but Zach is fairly certain "I can't tell if my feelings are temporary or if I want them to be" wouldn't go over well.

It’s okay during the summer because Chris is almost always home. He’s fine when Chris is around because he’s distracted—they’re always talking, kissing, groping. Things that are normal for them. Things that make Zach think that maybe this is temporary.

When they go back to school, shit changes. They can’t hang out like they used to, not when Zach is juggling five classes and as many shifts as he can manage. Now, if they’re together, they’re just sort of existing in the same room, doing homework and complaining about it.

And Zach likes it. He likes it a lot; he likes Chris a lot, and it’s sort of freaking him out. Because maybe his feelings aren’t fleeting like he wants them to be, and maybe he feels like a huge asshole for wanting that.

Chris comes into Zach’s room as soon as he gets home, and if it’s a work day, he leaves when Zach does. The routine feels sickeningly domestic: Zach gets a kiss (or two or three), Chris yammers on about his day, then settles on the floor to do his homework.

Today, he abandons his backpack by the door, rushes over to the bed, and crawls on top of Zach.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Zach manages before his mouth is ravaged by Chris’, plush lips followed by a velvety tongue. He pulls Chris closer, grabs his shoulders and kisses back just as hard. “What the fuck are you doing?”

"Kissing you?"

Zach scoffs and pushes Chris away, then leans over to kiss him more. His hand lingers just above the hem of Chris’ pants, pushes up under his shirt and up to his nipples. He grins when Chris whimpers; he’s so easy to please.

It feels like it’s been ages since they last touched like this when, in actuality, it’s been maybe a week tops. Zach reasons that that is indeed an eternity in teenage-boy-getting-laid terms, so he doesn’t give himself too much shit when he ruts against Chris’ thigh.

"I want to suck your dick," Chris murmurs.

Well, he can't just refuse an offer like _that_.

He pushes on Chris' shoulders, urging him down to his cock, suddenly desperate to be touched, yearning for Chris’ hands on him.

Chris, of course, has to be a tease, has to kiss Zach's hips before yanking his pants down, drag his tongue up the underside after it falls back onto his belly with a soft slap.

Zach is already knotting his fingers in Chris' hair, glad for his reluctance towards getting haircuts as he brings Chris' head up. He keeps petting his hair, caressing his face, pushing on his shoulders when he wants Chris to take in more.

He can see Chris' other hand touching himself, clumsily tugging at his dick—and fuck, it's hot. Zach slides his hands under Chris' arm pits, pulling him up just to shove him onto his back.

Zach straddles him. He leans over to kiss Chris' neck, to bite until Chris whines and his hips buck. "What do you want?"

"Fingers," Chris says breathlessly.

Zach smirks; ever since he first fingered Chris and practically made him come untouched, that's all he wants, and Zach is more than happy to give. He gets Chris' clothes off—which means he has to get naked, too, so Chris feels less awkward—and slicks his fingers up, works the middle one inside and feels around until Chris' mouth falls open.

"There you go." Zach grins as he hits that spot again and again. Chris bites his lip when he adds another, but pushes back against Zach's fingers. It shouldn't be so hot, but Jesus fucking Christ. His right hand goes to his dick, which throbs almost hopefully as he imagines his cock inside of Chris instead of his fingers.  "Touch yourself," he orders.

Chris licks his lips and obeys, arching his back slightly as he strokes along his shaft.

Zach removes his fingers and crawls up, hovering over Chris. "I want to fuck you,” he growls. "So bad."

And Chris—he gasps, and Zach feels his hand moving a little faster.  "God, do it."

"You want me to fuck you?"

"Yes," he hisses.

Zach is shaking, but he can’t tell if it’s from nerves or the mere prospect of _actually_ getting laid. “Here—uh, lie on your stomach,” he says, backing up so Chris can do so.

Usually, his prep is haphazard at best, rushed in anticipation. But this is Chris—he’s not going to hurt Chris, so he takes his time. By the time he’s lubing up his dick, everything feels fucking surreal, more so when he tries to push in.

"Bear down?"

"I am—ugh, I’m sorry.”

Zach leans over and kisses Chris’ nape, his shoulder, his jaw. "Shh, it's okay. It's normal. Just relax, okay?"

"I'm _trying_."

He kisses Chris, keeps the head of his cock nudged against his hole—and he starts to slip in, just a bit, but Chris clenches up and gasps.

"Oh my god." He turns his head, hiding from Zach. "’M sorry."

Zach sits up and backs away to sit between Chris’ legs. "Hey, why don't we try something?"

"What?"

"You could get on top of me?"

Chris looks over his shoulder, staring at Zach like he’s fucking crazy. "Holy shit, no. Fuck no."

"Why?"

"That's just—god, that's embarrassing."

"Um, dude, it's hot as fuck." Zach lies next to him, looks at Chris and tugs on his arm. "Come on. No harm in trying."

Chris sighs but straddles Zach, face set in a pout.

Zach snickers and holds onto Chris' thighs. "Only you could look pensive when you're about to get fucked."

"Oh, shut up." He raises up and looks over his shoulder, and Zach feels a hand on his cock, head pressing up against Chris' hole again.

Zach reaches around to grope his ass as he slowly, _slowly_ sinks down, mouth falling open as Chris takes him in. It's hard to not buck up into him, the effort making his legs tremble.

He's so fucking tight and hot and perfect, the way he has to stop to let his asshole spasm, how he bites his lip as he adjusts. "Fuck, Chris," Zach groans, scratching down Chris' thighs.

"You're so big," he hisses. Zach can't help it—he thrusts up, and Chris squeaks.

When he finally gets to the base of Zach's cock, his mouth is agape. He tries to move, but Zach grabs his hips and holds him still. "Give it a minute." He strokes Chris' dick, getting him back to half-hardness once his muscles settle down. "Okay—try now."

Chris places his hands on Zach's shoulders and rolls his hips. "That's weird."

"Do you want to stop?"

"No." He moves again and keeps it up, gets a rhythm going—until he moves just right and moans. "Oh, fuck."

Zach beckons him. Chris leans over and is pulled into a kiss, rough and feverish, while Zach starts thrusting, fucking up into him. God, he's actually, really fucking Chris, fucking his brother—his boyfriend, who's moaning into his mouth, whose erection is rubbing against his belly while he fucks himself on Zach’s cock.

He smacks Chris' side lightly, insistent little pats. "On your back."

Chris pulls off and lies down. Zach pushes his thighs apart and pulls him closer, Chris gasping as he slides in easily.

He leans over and brushes his lips against Chris’ before sighing in his ear. "You feel so fucking good," he breathes, and Chris scratches down his back. Zach changes his angle just a bit, enough to apparently hit Chris' prostate and make him moan—loudly—in Zach's ear.

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Chris says, tugging Zach's hair. “I—oh my god, _harder_.”

It would be easier if he changed the position a little, but fuck, Chris is pulling his hair, whimpering in his ear—so he works with it, thrusts harder but slower. He knows the sound of Chris coming by now, the breathy moans and the gasps, and when he looks between them, Chris' cock is twitching, shooting onto his chest.

Zach sits back on his knees, grips Chris’ hips so he can pound into him. Chris grabs at his hands and that, for whatever reason, is what sends Zach over, has him coming with a surprised moan.

He leans down and pants against Chris’ cheek, trying to catch his breath before he gets up to trash the condom. He grabs one of their shirts, hopefully his own, to wipe Chris' chest down, then throws it back to the floor when Chris reaches for him, blinking up at him with sleepy eyes. Everything else in the world can eat shit right now if Chris wants to cuddle him.

He didn't expect to be in so deep. When Chris lays his head on Zach's shoulder, his pulse skyrockets; he tells himself it's still high from fucking, that that's why he's so wired. Definitely not because Chris is fucking dozing off on him, and it's so sickeningly sweet, and he is way, way too into this. All of this. The kissing, the fucking, the cuddles, even the secrets—brushing their fingers together under the table, Chris slipping into Zach's room in the morning if he's just gotten off work to kiss him goodbye before the bus shows up.

It’s only been a month. A fucking month, and Zach finds himself wishing for more.

 

*

 

They have to celebrate Chris’ birthday a little late—they have to wait for their parents to stay out for more than a few hours, seeing as Zach promised him alcohol. Getting it is a fucking process; he has to get someone else to buy it, and god, this is so illegal. Paying someone to buy him beer just so he can drink it with a fifteen—no, sixteen year old.

As soon as he gets home, he slips into Chris’ room, evidently scaring the shit out of him; Chris flinches and almost drops the book he’s engrossed in. “Jesus, Z.”

“I have beer.” Zach brandishes the sixer, and Chris abandons aforementioned book to follow him down the hall.

“You're the fucking best.” Chris plops onto the floor in front of the TV and sticks his hand out, wiggling his fingers.

“Patience, babe.” Zach twists the cap off a bottle for him and hands it over. He sits next to Chris and, for the first time all day, Zach kisses him. “Mm, I missed you.”

“Missed you, too.”

It's so weird. Chris doesn't feel like his brother anymore, just... his boyfriend. This kid he just so happened to grow up with. He guesses it's a good thing—he feels less guilty and ashamed and overall disgusted with himself, which unsurprisingly makes everything better. It makes him relax, which puts less strain on their relationship as a whole, which... is good? Maybe? He's not sure, because there's still this nagging part of his brain telling him it's wrong, that it's going to be over soon because his feelings—or Chris'—will just disappear, and that’ll be the end of it.

And he doesn't want that.

Even now, in a moment that seemingly defined their relationship as brothers—playing video games, the loser slapping the shit out of the winner when he inevitably makes a snarky comment—doesn't feel the same. They’re doing the same shit they’ve been doing for years, but it’s different.

After Chris smacks him for kicking his ass at Mario Kart, he grins and kisses Zach; Zach slips his arm around Chris' shoulders as he sets up the next race. When he finishes, Chris sets the Wiimote in front of him and loops his arms around Zach, gives him a deep, beer flavored kiss.

“Shit,” Zach breathes. “What was that for?”

“I've been wanting to kiss you all day.” He shrugs. “Can we smoke real fast?”

“Ugh, you're gonna make me do more illegal shit?” Regardless, he fishes his cigarettes from his pocket and tosses them to Chris. “Knock yourself out.”

“Come with me.”

“Chris,” he whines. “I don't wanna move.”

“But it's _dark_.”

“God, you pussy.” _I love you_ , he thinks, and it scares the shit out of him. No way, no fucking way is he thinking about this tonight—but he can't help it. They're silent while smoking, so he can’t help but about it, and Mario Kart doesn't really require his full attention. So he thinks about the stupid L word some more, and he's so fucking glad the room is dark so Chris can't see him blushing when he beats Zach's ass and gives him a shit-eating grin.

He thinks about it when they go to sleep—while Chris is in his arms, curled up against his chest, muscles loose from the alcohol.

And god, oh _god_ , he does not want to be in love with Chris.

 

*

 

Zach is willing to put up with many stupid things to appease Chris, including but certainly not limited to his shitty taste in gory movies—though Chris has at least agreed to subject himself to Zach’s art-house horror collection, because it _is_ Halloween.

“You're such a baby,” Chris says.

“You know I don’t like gore!” Zach hides his face in Chris’ shoulder. If Chris wasn’t willingly being his shield from bones popping out of flesh, he would have shoved that asshole off the bed ages ago. “So of course you pick the grossest fucking thing you can find.”

“Would you expect anything else from me?”

“No, but you’re still an asshole.”

“Remember when you made me sit through _Black Sunday_?” Chris turns over to face him. “I’d say this is pretty fair revenge.”

Before he can say anything, Chris kisses him, tender in contrast to the bickering banter they’ve had going all night. Chris grins when they pull apart, like it’s some kind of novelty that he gets to kiss Zach.

Zach loves that look; he loves Chris. There’s no denying it anymore, not when he feels like he could melt right there in Chris’ arms.

“I love you,” he says, and _then_ he freaks out. One, what if it’s too fucking early—is four-ish months too early? Zach has no clue; his track record with lasting relationships isn’t exactly the greatest.

Two, of course _Chris_ could potentially be his longest relationship.

Three, someone’s getting slaughtered on screen.

“Really?” Chris asks, and all Zach can do is nod stupidly. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah, dude. I love you.”

Saying he’s relieved when Chris doesn’t push him away or look at him like he’s fucking lost it would be an understatement; Zach is pretty sure his heart is going to pound out of his chest when Chris kisses him. “I, uh—I love you, too.”

“ _You’re_ serious?”

“I just…  I dunno, I didn’t expect that. Like, ever. But yeah, I’m serious.”

And yeah, his heart is definitely going to fly out of him, or at least stop beating, because Chris is basically lying on top of him now and nuzzling his neck and Zach feels like he might puke, but in a good way.

 

*

 

The afterglow doesn't feel good tonight. There’s something eating at him, but Zach can’t figure out what. He attaches himself to Chris, presses his cheek against Chris’ chest to listen to his sex-fast heartbeat and tangles their legs together.

Usually Zach is the one doing the holding, so it feels ass-backwards. This is nice, too; Chris is petting his hair, scratching his shoulders. Zach can’t complain about that.

He doesn't want to bring it up. What if it's just him—what if Chris is perfectly fine? On the other hand, maybe he's not. He's generally pretty giggly after sex, and now he’s just… quiet. It’s unsettling.

“Chris,” he says quietly. “Will you stay in here tonight?”

“School night, though.” It's one of the rules they established in an attempt to be somewhat responsible; Chris doesn't sleep in Zach's bed on school nights, because, well. They do everything _but_ sleep.

“I feel weird,” Zach admits. “I want to be close to you.”

“What’s up?” One of Chris’ hands touches his face, stroking his cheek.

“I don’t know.”

“Z, look at me.” Zach tilts his head up. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

In the morning, he's reluctant to let Chris go.

“I'll see you later,” Chris says, sounding slightly annoyed. “Do you work today?”

“No, and yes, I will pick you up.”

He licks his lips before he kisses Zach goodbye, and it sends a shiver down Zach's spine. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

He tries to sleep more, but can't. He's too busy racking his brain, trying to figure out why the fuck he feels so off. Nothing is fucking wrong. Chris is happy; Zach _was_ happy. No one's found out yet, which is… good, he figures.

Guilty—he feels guilty, but why? Because Chris is bitchy when he’s tired?

No. Because he still doesn’t want this for Chris. Zach groans and buries his face in his pillow, which smells like Chris. All he can fucking smell is Chris, the musk of his sweat and hyper-masculine deodorant, and he definitely feels another pang of guilt, regret—something that’s telling him his sheets shouldn’t smell like this.

 

*

 

On cue, his phone pings, very effectively scaring the shit out of him.

_You've been acting weird_ , Chris texts.

God dammit, of course. _**shouldn't you be paying attention?** _

_I’m in english its fine_

_**go read a book, nerd** _

_Tell me why your acting like a fucktard_

**wrong *you’re, c  
** __**it's not you tho i promise  
** _**i’m just being stupid  
** _ __**and it’s not really a convo to have via text**

_So we’ll talk later  
_ _Ok I actually do have to pay attention now_

Zach doesn’t bother responding; no need to. For the rest of the day, though, he finds himself staring at his phone, waiting.

 

*

 

He feels a fraction better when he goes to pick Chris up, if only because Chris immediately grabs his hand.

“So, we need to talk,” Zach says flatly.

“Yeah, uh—can it wait? I’m like, really dizzy.”

His first instinct is to bitch, but Zach bites his tongue. “Do you not have food on you? You want me to stop and get you something?”

“No, dude, I'm fine. Just take me home.” Chris squeezes his hand, and that’s what Zach focuses on to make sure he’s okay—if Chris’ grip starts to slack, _then_ it’s a problem.

“So, we’re talking.” Chris says mid-Easy Mac cup.

Zach scrubs his hands over his face. “I don't know how to spit this out without sounding like an ass.”

“Well, ass away.”

“I love you. You know that, don’t you?” Chris nods. “I just, like, I didn’t expect this—” he pauses to gesticulates wildly, then continues, “to last, like… what’s it been, six months?”

“Okay?”

“Like, I thought this just happened because, you know, we were fucking around. So I didn’t really expect to like, fall in love with you.” He sighs, and he wants to lay his head in Chris’ lap or cuddle him or _something_. “I guess I didn’t want to because, ugh. You’re my brother.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” is not what Zach expects to hear, but it’s what Chris spits out.

“Wait—what?”

“What, what?” Chris looks at him, chewing thoughtfully.

Zach says fuck it and moves closer to Chris, who leans into him. “I dunno, you always act so cool about it.”

“You’re not the only actor in the world, Zach.”

“God, do you feel better yet? I want to kiss you.”

“Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

“No,” Zach sighs. “Are you happy with this?”

“You mean with _you_?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“Of course I am. I’d break it off if I wasn’t.”

For some reason, that startles him; Zach’s never toyed with the idea of Chris being the one to end it. But at the same time, he’s glad to hear it, to know that Chris isn’t _that_ stupid. “Okay.”

Chris leans forward to set his cup down. “I’m mostly scared of people finding out, you know?”

“God, I know.”

“But that’s, like… I don’t know.” Chris looks fucking sad, and this—this is exactly why Zach’s been so wary. He wants Chris to experience something _normal_ , have a relationship he can flaunt and tell people about and be proud of.

“I want this to work.”

Chris slips his arm around Zach. "I mean... it _is_ working, isn't it? We're fine."

"I think so? It's just the whole keeping it secret thing that sucks."

"So, like, it's either break up, or stay together and keep it on the DL."

He shifts to look at Chris. "I mean—" Zach hesitates, because considering the future? Not his favorite idea, especially now of all times. But he can almost see it happening: he knows Chris too well and Chris him, and he's certain that's beneficial. “I’m afraid of people finding out, but not so much of telling them?”

“Dude, yeah. I get that.”

And because he knows Chris too well, Zach knows exactly what to expect when he says, "We _could_ tell people." He knows to tack on, "Not now. Not for a while. I meant, like—I don’t know, if we’re still together when you’re older.” He shrugs. “Maybe never."

"So basically, on the DL until further notice?" Chris sniggers and Zach knocks his shoulder.

"Is that what you want?"

"Is that what _you_ want?" Chris is beaming at him, and Zach's never been so glad to see that jackass smile. It makes everything worthwhile—the bullshit that's already happened and whatever the fuck's going to get thrown at them.

"Yeah," he answers. "But do you?"

"Yeah." He punctuates it with a kiss. Zach is terrified and ecstatic and definitely a huge fucking idiot but he doesn't care, not when Chris is pressing against him like this and grinning so hard he can't kiss anymore. "Duh, Z."


End file.
